Murdoch After the Dentist
by Demosthenes23
Summary: Pretty self explanatory. Pretty silly.
1. Chapter 1

**Finally getting around to reading the books and they inspired me to write this.**

* * *

"All right then, Mr. Murdoch, time to wake up," said a deep voice.

_My Lord?_

The fog was slowly lifting and through this haze he met startling green eyes. A tall, stout man was smiling down at him. Dr. Prescott he believed. What a kind young man. Murdoch smiled goofily back at him and felt something cold dribble down his chin. There was a woman's laugh from somewhere out of sight. He knew that laugh well.

"Julia," he slurred lethargically, as if he were drunk. Indeed he felt like he was floating on an absinthe induced cloud without a care in the world. It was delightful. He turned, or rather lolled his head towards her.

"Did you have a nice dream, William?" she enquired, dabbing at his face with one hand and clasping his hand with the other. Her touch seemed to be as soft as a litter of fluffy puppies. He brought her hand up to his face and rubbed his cheek a few times with it.

"Soft," he cooed. "Very soft."

Julia appeared to be very tickled about something and this knowledge made him unspeakably happy. Murdoch burst into maniacal laughter and Julia released some more giggles. After this unusual display of merriment had subsided, the deep voice spoke anew.

"You can take him home now, Mrs. Murdoch."

He lolled his head in the dentist's direction again.

"Who are _you_?" he asked seriously.

Prescott was eyeing him serenely. "Dr. Prescott, sir. You've just had a tooth pulled."

"Really?" he said in surprise, fingers trying to probe inside his mouth.

"Please don't do that, Mr. Murdoch. You need to leave the cotton where it is or you'll make a dreadful mess."

He obeyed like a scolded child would and fiddled with his hands in his lap.

"Why do I feel...odd?" he said tentatively.

"You've just been under the influence of nitrous oxide, otherwise known as laughing gas. The effects will wear off in an hour or two."

"Nitrous oxide? That's a chemical, no?"

The dentist nodded and Murdoch noticed he was nodding with him.

"Made out of carboxylhydroentropy?"

Prescott pursed his lips together. "Yes, sir, exactly."

Suddenly Murdoch had something very important to tell him.

"Doctor!" he exclaimed urgently, half falling out his chair. Julia put a restraining hand to his chest and pushed him back in.

"Yes, Mr. Murdoch? What is it?"

"I just wanted to say..." His attention was caught by a magical beam of light shining on the spittoon beside him. He reached out and tried to grab the multicoloured mystery and put it in his pocket so that he could examine it later. After a few unsuccessful attempts he noticed the doctor again. "Who are you?"

"Dr. Prescott. I've just removed one of your molars."

"Oh right! I just wanted to say...you're swell! I didn't feel a thing!" he said flopping his heavy arms around. "Not a thing!"

"How kind of you to say, sir," Prescott said with a smirk. "You were a swell patient as well."

Murdoch grinned at him stupidly and felt more saliva roll down his face. Julia cleaned it up. "Come along then, William."

"You're pretty," he said, bopping her on the nose.

Prescott helped her lift him to his feet and Murdoch took the opportunity to awkwardly hug the man, nearly knocking him over. Then after wobbling around for a bit, Julia managed to support his weight enough so that they could walk to the waiting carriage just outside. Thankfully there were no stairs to descend and they were on their way without incident.

* * *

Julia stared at her drugged husband who was watching the passing landscape with growing fascination and laughter. Periodically he would turn to her with a new found and often absurd assertion.

_Julia! Did you see that?! That horse was as big as an elephant! That woman was wearing trousers! Those children have moustaches like the inspector!_

"Yes, dear," was her reply to all of it.

She had been under the influence of laughing gas once before and knew how it warped one's perception of reality. As such she wasn't concerned about his silly outbursts though she was becoming increasingly annoyed with them, especially since he had the nasty habit of whacking her with one of his errant limbs every time he ejaculated. After three such whacks and a stinging thigh, she took his hand firmly and held it fast to the carriage seat. He didn't seem to notice and continued on with his stuporous effusions.

When they were back home and settled on the couch, he curled up to her like a cat would and put his head in her lap. She stroked the scruff of hair at the back of his neck and he sighed in pleasure.

"That's nice momma," he muttered, and as he spoke more saliva crept out onto her skirt.

Julia had purposely worn her least favourite outfit for just such an occurrence. As for the sight of him drooling, well, that _did_ bother her a bit. Many of her patients often had to be sedated and that lose of bodily function was the unvarying outcome. It was somewhat unsettling to see her husband in the same way.

He was so quiet that she thought he had fallen asleep but then he murmured, "I love you."

Vaguely she wondered if he was talking to her or his dead mother.

"I love you too," she said, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

She jumped when he smacked the spot with his hand as if a wasp had landed there. "What was that?!" he said in a startled manner, rolling over to stare up at her, eyes wide.

"My lips, William, I just kissed you."

"Oh," he said, eyes half closed, smiling dopily. "I thought it was Gillies."

Despite herself she snorted. Then the telephone rang and with some difficulty she extracted herself from her clingy husband and went to answer it.

"Mrs. Murdoch speaking."

"Dr. Ogden, I'm ever so glad I was able to reach you." Jenny her assistant sounded alarmed and Julia's body tensed.

"What is it, Jenny, what's happened?"

"It's Michael, again, he's completely out of control. He's already injured Mr. Young and now he is frightening the other patients and tearing apart the place."

"Sedate him then."

"That's just it, doctor, the drugs don't seem to be working and now no one can get near enough to strap him down. Besides which, he's been asking for you most insistently. I'm afraid he won't stop his rampage until you calm him."

Just as Jenny said this, a primal scream could be heard in the background and Julia's breathing quickened.

"All right, Jenny, I'll be there straight away."

She hung up and looked to her husband. He was admiring his fingernails and chuckling quietly to himself. He would probably be fine on his own but she couldn't be sure of that. And after everything they had been through together, it would be exceedingly ironic if a simple tooth extraction brought about their utter ruin. Unfortunately their housekeeper was not in for the day. She was out of town visiting her ailing father. Unsurprisingly Julia had been very sympathetic to her plight.

Emily would not want to babysit him while performing autopsies.

With no other options she telephoned the station house. Henry answered and she asked for George.

"Something the matter, doctor? Were there...complications?"

"In a manner of speaking, George. I've been unexpectedly summoned to the asylum. Could you possibly come over here and keep an eye on him until I can return?"

A brief pause followed by a sigh. "I'm sorry, doctor, but the inspector's in one of his moods today and not likely to be very receptive to the idea. He's already laid into Perkins for being in the water closet for a few minutes."

"I see."

"But I'll ask anyway."

"Thank you, George."

Julia glanced over at her husband. His fingers were in his mouth again.

"William, stop that!" she hissed.

He held up his hand lazily and laughed. The tips of his fingers were bright red. "Julia, look, I'm bleeding! Isn't it wonderful?!"

Colourful male bellowing in the background this time. George made further apologies. Julia really didn't want to bring William along to the asylum even though he currently would fit right in with some of the older residents.

"Perhaps I could drop him off at the station house and you could watch him there?"

"I suppose," George returned nervously.

With that settled, she hung up and approached her husband who was still sticking his fingers in his mouth. She pulled his hand away. Attention now fully on her, he yanked her hard and she fell on top of him. "You're so beautiful," he said, eyes shining brightly, as if he were about to cry. "Your hair is like a halo. I don't deserve such an angel."

"William, we need to-"

He gave her a slobbery kiss and she endured it the best she could and then pushed off of him.

"William," she said, wiping her face, "I have to go to the asylum and I don't think it wise to leave you alone. George is going to look after you while I am gone."

William smiled sedately at that. "George is my best friend even though his aunts are prostitutes."

Julia shook her head and chuckled. It appeared it would be some time before he stopped talking nonsense.


	2. Chapter 2

The lads and some women and children curiously watched as Dr. Ogden brought a dopey looking Detective Murdoch into his office. He tried to hug several of the men along the way but they all dodged him. Predictably, Henry and another young recruit were snickering. George wanted to smack them upside the head like the inspector would have done.

Dr. Ogden spoke to her husband briefly and then went over to George who was watching his mentor dubiously.

"I must thank you again for doing this."

While he did feel put upon, he tried not to let it show. "Don't mention it doctor." His eyes flickered to the detective and then the inspector's shuttered office. "Is there any chance he'll simply sit there quietly?"

Dr. Ogden smiled wanly in response and then left. George sighed and sat back down behind his desk, doing his best to focus on his mound of paper work. Emily had kept him up late last night and now he had a lot of catching up to do.

For about five minutes Detective Murdoch simply stared off into space and then he started to examine all of the things on his desk, seemingly playing with them like a child would. George looked up to see him holding an ink well in apparent awe. Then the detective put it down a bit precariously and George winced hoping it wouldn't fall and cause a huge mess. It didn't, and he directed his attention back to his work. A little while later he noticed the detective -with black smear on upper lip- was now contemplating something on his workspace. The detective stood up and after an initial falter, used various different surfaces for support and slowly made his way to whatever was fascinating him this time. He picked up parts of his latest invention and goggled at it. The detective became aware that he was being watched.

"George!" Detective Murdoch yelled enthusiastically, gesturing madly and almost falling over in the process. Many constables directed their attention to him and he groaned internally. "George! Come here!"

"Yes, sir?" he said at the door, closing it. "What is it?"

The detective made a sound he wasn't likely to forget any time soon, he giggled! He actually giggled! "That's precisely the problem, George! I don't _know_ what this is!"

George attributed his ability to perfectly understand the garbled words to his remarkable hearing.

George pushed the inkwell further onto his desk and then went to his side. The constable had to stifle the strong urge to lick his thumb and forefinger and wipe off the ink from his bosses upper lip, like he would have done with Penny's younger brother, Ralph, who was frequently to be found with dirt on his face.

"You were updating your night vision goggles. You wanted to add a filter to be able to see in the..." _What was the word again? _"Inferior red range."

"Oh yes! Yes, of course! Now I remember! I wanted to track all the rats in the station house!" He laughed. "And then stomp on them!"

George made a face but didn't comment. As far as the detective had explained, the filter was going to be used on future stakeouts and takedowns. The Detective's grip was quickly becoming relaxed and George was afraid he would drop the filter. He took it out of his hands. "Careful now, sir, that is very expensive."

"Really?" Murdoch asked, cocking his head towards him. "Says who?"

"You did, sir, many times when I was touching it yesterday."

Detective Murdoch gazed at him intently for several moments and then burst out, "You're a fine fellow George Crabtree! And I love you like a brother!"

George was taken aback and embarrassed but also quite pleased. He looked to the floor and shuffled his feet. "That's kind of you to say, sir. I feel the same way."

The detective half smiled, half drooled and then pulled him into a limp hug. George broke off the embrace after a few seconds and then found he could no longer restrain the desire to clean Murdoch's face. He looked utterly ridiculous. The constable held out a clean handkerchief and offered it to him. The detective didn't take it so he tried to wipe his face in vain, succeeding in only making it look worse. His boss would not hold still.

"That tickles!"

Uncomfortably aware of the strange scene they must be making, he promptly stopped and with a sigh, led the detective back over to his desk. While he was doing so the usually dignified man had stuck his fingers in his mouth.

"Sir, stop that," George said, pulling his hand away. "Can you sit here, like a nice lad and not touch your wound?"

"I'm not a child, George," he said with a chuckle, whipping his hand to the side. He hit the ink well and George attempted to catch it but it slipped through his fingers. Black ink splashed the floor and his trousers but the dark nature of his uniform hid the worst of it. The sound of the glass shattering was enough to garner more unwanted attention even though the closed doors. George cursed himself for not being swifter.

"Oopsie Daisy!" laughed the detective hysterically.

"Sir, please be quiet," urged George, with another desperate look to the inspector's office. He fancied he saw movement behind the shutters and he half contemplated putting his boss in the holding cells before his other boss descended on them. But the cells were fit to burst as it was and besides which, he had promised to keep an eye on the detective himself. He had dealt with a cantankerous inspector many times before, he could do it again if needs be. And at this rate, the confrontation would be very soon. George prepared himself mentally.

The detective stopped the noise abruptly and started spinning around in his rotating chair. "My name is Willie! Weee!"

More maniacal laughter.

"Sir, _please_! You are disturbing the whole station house!"

But his pleas were too little, too late. The inspector's door banged open, as surely as a shot fired, and the big ginger haired British man stormed towards them, looking murderous. Inspector Brackenreid whipped open his lead detective's office door and bellowed, "What the bloody hell is going on here!?"

* * *

Crabtree was about to respond but he didn't get the chance. Murdoch laughed and said, "Sir, you are standing in ink."

"What the bloody hell did he just say?"

Crabtree told him. Brackenreid glanced down and saw that Murdoch was right. "Goddamn it, Crabtree! Clean this mess up immediately!"

_Clean his face too!_

"Yes, sir!" the constable replied, hurrying out of the room to find the cleaning supplies.

The inspector returned his attention to a quietly laughing Murdoch. "Where's your wife? Why are you here? Stop that goddamn racket!"

Murdoch became louder.

"Quite the grouch today, I see." Murdoch smiled and wagged a finger at him. "Must have upset the missus again."

Brackenreid huffed air out of his nostrils like a bull about to charge. It took a lot of restraint to not throttle the silly looking and acting man. As it was he was in a bad mood because Margaret had been giving him the cold shoulder lately, but more than that, he was infuriated by the simple fact that the last time he had a tooth pulled, it had been the single worst experience of his life (except for when he thought Bobby had been killed of course). And here was this jokester, this normally wooden as a board bloke, laughing it up! Why the chuffing hell couldn't Margaret have found a _dentist_ and not a butcher? Further resentment towards his wife darkened his already stormy mind.

Crabtree came skittering back into the room with a half full water pail and a scrub brush. He dropped to his knees, carefully avoiding further ruination of his uniform, and started to scrub furiously. Brackenreid asked him the same questions that he had asked Murdoch.

"Well, he can't stay here any longer! This is His Majesty's police force! Not a bloody circus!"

"Is the circus in town then?" asked an eager faced Murdoch, clapping his hands together. "I love the acrobats! They perform the most wonderful feats!"

_Bloody hell!_

The younger buck stood up and faced him. His hands were stained a dark black, making him look a bit like a dirty beggar.

Crabtree was frowning at him. "I asked you to give me leave to tend to him at his _home_ but you refused my request."

"What does he need tending to anyway? He's as happy as a clam!"

"I love clams too! They taste like home!"

"Dr. Ogden was wary about leaving him alone," Crabtree glanced down, "and I can't say I blame her."

"Sir, sir!" said Murdoch tugging on his sleeve.

"_What_?!"

"Sir," said Murdoch giggling, "I like your moustache." He touched his own mucked up lip, still giggling. "Do you like mine?"

"No of course not, Murdoch! You look ridiculous!" He hefted the younger man up to his feet and said, "Now go home! Go home and sleep and don't come back here until you can string two words of sense together!"

"All right."

_Is he making fun of me? No, I suppose not. He looks as dozy as a drunkard._

Shaking off a pang of guilt he gave Murdoch a little push and said, "Off with you now." Murdoch stumbled forward and fell on Higgins at his desk.

"Sir!" the constable yelled in surprise.

"Good morning Henry!" Murdoch said cheerily and started to laugh again.

Higgins helped him up and then Murdoch unsteadily made his way to the exit. Several of the children were pulled away by their mother as he passed. Crabtree glared at Brackenreid and said, "I'm going after him. He's in no condition to fend for himself."

Before Brackenreid could protest, George had shoved the dripping scrubber into his hands and marched out the side door, leaving inky footprints in his wake. Several constables made a big show of being busy all of a sudden and quickly averted their gazes.

"Higgins!" he barked, ready to explode. The lad hopped up immediately. Brackenreid pointed to the ink spill with a shaking hand. "Clean! Now!"

"Yes, sir!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Lol Caroline, that word has more than one meaning. The common one is what you are thinking of but the less common is basically just another way of saying exclaim. I am wondering though if somehow that word got the story blocked from my initial K+ rating.  
**

* * *

Emily had her hands deep in the chest cavity of a wealthy elderly woman who had passed away during the night. It was her task to determine if the woman's demise was completely innocent or not. A large inheritance hung in the balance. She was in the process of removing the lungs when she heard footsteps echoing in the hallway. Assuming it was George, she quickly wiped her hands on her apron and went to greet him. After last night's events, well, let's just say she was just as eager to say a second good morning as he apparently was.

The door started to push open, curiously slowly, and she said, "Back for seconds are we?" She jumped and flushed briefly when Detective Murdoch's stuporous face poked through. Composing herself as well as she could she continued, "Detective." She frowned at his inky upper lip. "Shouldn't you be at home with Julia?"

He stumbled past her and plopped into the chair behind her. He looked up at her happily, "What did you mean by your first comment, Dr. Grace? Seconds of what?"

After she deciphered what he said, Emily swallowed and dodged the question. "Is Julia around here somewhere?" She was doubtful considering the state of his face. "I'm rather busy at the moment."

The detective appeared to think very hard. "I don't believe she is." Like a lost puppy separated from its mother he asked, "Could you help me find her?"

"Surely you must have some idea of where your wife is." He was staring off into space. "Detective?" He gave her a blank look. "Your wife?"

"I'm married?" he said suddenly, laughing. "I never thought that would happen!"

_Neither did I._

Though his eyes were half closed, he studied her face closer than he had ever done before. "We don't get along very well, do we?"

Emily stiffened at that remark.

_In the past you would snap at me all the time for minor infractions. _

"Sometimes we still find ourselves at odds, it's true."

"Why do you think that is?"

_Because I took over your wife's position and you have never fully forgiven me for it._

"I'm not sure, detective."

"That's a pity. I was hoping we could become closer colleagues...and maybe even friends one day." He smiled dreamily. "Julia would like that I think."

A few seconds later, heavy boots could be heard. The tread was distinctly different from shoes and she wondered how she could have mixed the two. This time it _was _George and she felt familiar stirrings at the sight of him. Apparently he shared this sentiment because he just stared at her for several moments before visibly snapping out of his trance.

"Emily," he said with a curt nod.

"George." Emily had a strong urge to kiss him but instead clasped her bloody hands tightly in front of her and focused on dead bodies. She probably should have picked something more odious though as this did little to affect her growing need.

Her beau of the last two months looked to Detective Murdoch. "Sir, I really must get you home before you end up in a ditch somewhere."

"I found a dollar in a ditch once." The detective was repeatedly bobbing his head. "I used it to buy a pornographic book. Quite instructive."

Emily and George shared a shocked and slightly amused look.

"Really?" George said, open mouthed, getting that same salacious look in his eyes as last night. "Instructive, how?" Emily elbowed George in the arm and he shook his head and helped his boss to his feet. "Come along, sir."

George glanced over his shoulder at her, giving her a longing look and she felt gratified...and frustrated.

_Well then, back to Mrs. Jefferson._

* * *

When they were out of earshot George whispered, "What was the name of this...book, sir?"

"Book? What book?"

"The...special one you were just alluding to."

The detective made a face. "I haven't the foggiest what you are going on about, George."

George grumbled to himself and then his face lit up. Once he dropped the detective off, he could take a quick peek at the ample Murdoch book collection. With any luck he would be able to find the 'forbidden' material that the detective, and presumably the doctor owned. While he had enjoyed himself last night, and he thought Emily had too, he was sure his 'technique' could do with improvement. Given his increased work load lately, he wasn't likely to get another chance any time soon to study up, so he was determined to make the most of this opportunity. He hoped there were a lot of pictures...a lot of _detailed_ pictures.

"Why are you smiling like that, George? And why are you flushed?"

"I'm not flushed!" he yelped. Murdoch blinked at him in confusion."_You're_ flushed!" he added nonsensically.

The detective stared at him some more and seemed close to laughter. Not wanting to get him riled up again, George commanded control of himself and hailed Tom, the constabulary carriage driver. After assisting him up the step, George climbed in too and told Tom where to go.

Shortly before they arrived at The Murdoch's, the detective had fallen asleep on George's shoulder. The constable gently roused him and they made their way to the door. George noticed the detective was more or less managing to walk unassisted, but he continued to give his support regardless.

"Your key, sir," George asked, holding out his hand.

Detective Murdoch stuck a hand in his pocket and then patted himself down. Murdoch gave him a rueful expression. "I seem to have forgotten it, George."

_Oh for the love of..._

George ran an irritated hand along his face and then said, "All right. Where do you keep the spare? Surely you must have one."

"Ah, yes," the detective said, surveying the porch, "I believe we have one somewhere around here..." another rueful smile, "but I can't quite remember where."

The constable clenched his hands tight and contemplated breaking a window.

He had to get a peek at that book, he just had to!

More sense returned to him and he instead took out a pocket knife, inserted it into the narrow slot in a window and moved it sideways until he hit the latch. Putting the instrument away he pushed against the glass and lifted upwards. The window seemed to be stuck on something so he applied a bit more pressure. It still wouldn't budge. On the third attempt he applied so much pressure that the glass began to bend and shake, and Detective Murdoch cleared his throat.

"That doesn't appear to be working, George."

George glared at the window like it had done him unspeakable wrongs and the idea of smashing it with his baton crossed his mind again.

"Oh wait!" said Detective Murdoch. "It's over here!"

George whipped his head around to find Murdoch standing on his tiptoes, reaching into a small hole in the brick wall. Clearly his balance was fully returned to him once more.

The detective walked the few feet over to him and said, "Well, thank you for all your help, George, but I'm feeling much more like myself now, so you can head back to the station house." George felt like a thunder clap had struck him. "I'm sure Inspector Brackenreid is most anxious for your return."

He was about to say, 'yes, sir,' but then thought better of it. "That may be true, sir, but Dr. Ogden told me to expressly watch you until she returned." He felt incredibly slimy as he continued, "I would feel just terrible if something happened to you because I was remiss in my duties."

Detective Murdoch eyed him for a moment and shrugged.

"Suit yourself, George."

They went inside and his boss enquired if he wanted any tea.

"That would be delightful, sir."

While Murdoch was filling up the kettle, George put a hand to his tummy and said, "Sir, I suddenly have to use the little boys room. Could you direct me to the water closet?"

"It's straight down the hall, right at the end."

George headed that direction and then when Murdoch's back was turned, changed course and like a thief in the night, tip toed around, keeping an eye out for the library. He hadn't been in their home too many times since they married, and out of those few times, it was always only briefly in order to fetch them after a crime had been committed. That isn't to say that they hadn't had a house warming party, because they had, but George had unfortunately been ill with some bug that was going around.

After what seemed like ages but was probably only thirty seconds, he located the library and slunk in, quietly closing the door behind him. He stood back and admired their combined treasure trove of knowledge...and felt his mood sink like quick sand. How in the devil would he ever find what he was looking for if he didn't even know what it was called!

Rallying his spirits, he rushed forward and began quickly scanning the titles, looking for anything and everything that sounded out of the ordinary. There were a number of science fiction novels by H.G. Wells, as well as Jules Verne and other like minded authors. There were also a variety of horror books such as _Dracula_ and _Frankenstein_ and stories by Edgar Allen Poe. Romantic works by Jane Austen and Charlotte and Emily Bronte. Adventure novels such as _Treasure Island_ and _Gulliver's Travels_ over here. A large selection of poetry; curiously one of the books appeared to have a hole in it, if he wasn't much mistaken, it looked like a bullet hole! For a little while his attention was diverted as he concocted increasingly silly ways that that could have happened but then he got back on task. Lots of historical, general knowledge books here...clearly they were all the detective's. Many old, beaten up medical textbooks and copies of medical journals towards the end of the second book shelf. All the titles sounded very technical and dense, the sort of thing he normally avoided...

George pulled one out at random and was disappointed when there was no hidden compartment for a smaller, more lascivious book, as had been the case with 'the rose' series from a few years back. He pulled a few more textbooks out to much the same result. However, when he was putting these back he noticed something in behind and reached in and with some difficulty pried it loose. It had been secured to the wall with the detective's very own adhesive strip invention!

Sure this is what he was after, his heart began to race and his palms began to sweat. When he opened the seemingly innocuous book to the index page, his face grew hot and mouth went dry. Then as he turned the page to the first of the depictions, there was a loud _ahem_ from behind and he whirled around exclaiming, 'oh my socks!' and dropped the book. It landed open on a particularly erotic page and it was with great difficulty that he looked up at the detective. His mentor appeared completely unaffected by what he found him doing, save for a slight twinkle in his eyes.

"This isn't what it looks like!" he blurted out.

Detective Murdoch chose to ignore that comment. "Your tea was getting cold so I went to see how your stomach was faring." Murdoch's gaze lowered almost imperceptibly to the book.

George was pretty sure he resembled a boiling tomato at this point and he tugged at his tight collar, trying to relieve some of the steam pouring off of him.

"Sir, I-"

Murdoch removed a hand from behind his back and held it up. Then he pointed at the ground, still with eyes on him. "Would you like to borrow that book, George?"

He gulped but then nodded once. Murdoch walked over to it and picked it up, snapping it closed as he did so. "I'm quite fond of this one." This one, _this_ one?! How many illegal books did the well respected _police _officer own!? "As is Julia. Please take good care of it."

"I- I will, sir," he stammered.

"Pages 53 and 77 are of particular note. One day I'm sure you'll work your way up to such...demanding exercises."

George just stared at him open mouthed, barely able to believe they were having this conversation.

"Before I give this to you, I need to know one thing."

Timidly, "What's that, sir?"

Murdoch smiled mischievously. "When's the wedding?"

* * *

**Yeah so in case you didn't realize, pretty much all of these S8 stories I've done are in the same timeline and in chronological order. I don't include the mind swap one as part of this though because it's kinda too crazy and in it's own category. But the honeymoon, the dark places and now this one are continuations of the same 'world'.**


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